Beacon of My Soul
by lilyjack00
Summary: The following is a combination MM/ATC for Season 2, Episode 21, "Bloody Hands" written by John Meston, directed by Andrew V. McLaglen. This fic assumes that Matt and Kitty are not yet a couple. In "Bloody Hands" the shooting of several members of an outlaw gang, although in self defense, triggers an emotional crisis in Matt. Kitty is there to help see him through it.
1. Chapter 1

Beacon of My Soul

by Lilyjack

The following is a combination MM/ATC for Season 2, Episode 21, "Bloody Hands" written by John Meston, directed by Andrew V. McLaglen. Crazy enough, this fic assumes that Matt and Kitty are not yet a couple. Many thanks to Moonstone Maiden, Glow, and anotherredhead for ideas and encouragement.

_Oh, won't you stay with me  
'Cause you're all I need..._

Sam Smith, "Stay With Me," _In the Lonely Hour_

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Chapter 1

"_You're nothin' but a butcher..." Jack Brand's disembodied, raspy voice coldly sneered in Matt Dillon's ear. "A butcher..." The sound echoed hollowly in his head like a death knell. _

_He looked down at his own hand where cool, gray gunmetal glinted, pointing directly at a man dressed entirely in black at the far end of the street, his shadowed face unidentifiable. Who was this man? Why was Matt pointing a gun at him? The stranger dispassionately reached for his weapon. _

_Matt pleaded hoarsely, "Don't make me shoot you. Don't go for your gun. Don't make me kill you!" Matt's heart pounded until he thought it would burst from his chest. _Please, not another killing._ He heard the raspy hiss in his ear once more, "Butcherrr..." and felt the hair rise on the back of his neck._

_Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a brilliant flash of color, a red and pink sequined dress emerging from the saloon doors, bright blue eyes in a porcelain face etched with worry. "Be careful," Kitty whispered under her breath, but he heard her clearly all the same, and he could smell her rose-scented perfume from where he stood. "Please be careful, Matt..." she whispered again and blew him a gentle kiss from perfect, ruby-stained lips._

_The stranger cocked his trigger. Quickly Matt's gaze returned to his opponent, and he begged once more, "Don't make me kill you!" _

_Staring at him with bleak, dead eyes, the stranger laughed callously, even while his hand darted for his gun. _

_Bullets fired._

_Kitty's voice desperately cried out, "Matt!"_

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The Marshal of Dodge City bolted straight upright in his undersized cot for the second time that night, gasping for air, black images of death and destruction by his own hand slowly slithering from his mind's eye. But the icy fingers of his shattering dream remained clenched around his heart all the same. His shirt collar was soaked with sweat, and he pushed the curls plastered to his wet forehead off his face.

It was still dark out, and the loud insect chorus outside the jailhouse window seemed to mock him, repeating Brand's damning curse, "butch-er, butch-er, butch-er." Chester remained undisturbed, snoring softly on his own cot, arms dangling, mouth gaping in sleep.

Matt sighed and stood with a small groan, his whole body aching with utter exhaustion. He hadn't had a decent night's sleep in two days. Looking out the window, he judged the time to be about 1AM. He grabbed his gun belt and buckled it back on, deciding to make the rounds of Dodge once more to try and chase the nightmare images from his head. He was sure getting no rest as it were. He grimaced at the thought that outlaw Jack Brand had gotten to him like he had. Maybe a walk around town would help to clear his troubled mind. Matt placed his hat on his head and glanced over his shoulder at his still peacefully sleeping assistant before he softly closed the door behind him.

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Boots scuffing along the boardwalk and dusty streets, hands stuffed deep into his pockets, Matt paid scant attention to where he walked or what was going on around him. Truthfully, at this hour and with the town being between trail herds, little was going on in Dodge. All the stores and most of the saloons had closed up for the night since there were very few cowboys to darken their swinging doors. Only an occasional drunk could be seen stumbling his way home to sleep off a snootful. Matt ignored them as he made his preoccupied way through the darkened thoroughfare.

Matt's mind was in a terrible mire, mulling over the deadly events of the afternoon before. Three killings. He knew there was nothing he could have done differently—the men had all resisted arrest and drawn their weapons first-but Matt had never been a killer at heart. Loss of life had always bothered him, but three deaths on his hands all at once, not to mention Brand's merciless taunting, were eating him up inside.

Just then Matt looked up and was surprised to find himself in the shadowy back alley behind the Long Branch. Well, maybe not so surprised after all. Ever since Kitty had come to town, he'd made it a habit to always check around back of the saloon on his rounds, where her bedroom window was, to make sure she was okay. He guessed his feet had taken him there as a matter of course this evening.

But when Matt's gaze lifted upward, his heart caught in his throat. A soft light in Kitty Russell's window illuminated her graceful form as she moved beyond the white lace curtains. It suddenly dawned on him -it had been no accident that his booted feet had brought him here. He needed to talk to her. Kitty was a good friend. She always listened to his problems without judging him and offered him sound advice. Maybe she could help talk him out of this miserable brown study he was stuck in.

Quickly, he cupped his hands to his mouth, calling out her name as loudly as he dared, and waited, waited, watching the lighted window for any sign of her face. His heart sank when there was no answer, only the white lace curtains blowing gently in the slightbreeze.

He hurriedly glanced up and down the alley. No one in sight, but he didn't want to shout any louder and take a chance of drawing someone's attention. He shook his head and rolled his eyes at the very idea of what some of the townspeople would say.

Peering down in the dim light, he kicked in the dust and came up with a few pebbles. He pitched one small one, then two more. Matt screwed up his mouth at the thought of breaking her window. She'd be fit to be tied if that happened.

Then Kitty appeared, peeping out from behind the curtains cautiously at first, brows knitted in a frown. "Who's there?" she demanded, and Matt had to stifle a chuckle. Kitty was one tough little lady, that was for sure. It crossed his mind that he was lucky she didn't have a gun in her hand.

Matt spoke up quickly, hoarsely whispering as he held aloft both hands in an act of surrender, "It's just me, Kitty."

Then her mouth popped open at the sight of the U.S. Marshal in the alley below, grinning sheepishly. She opened the window wider and leaned on folded arms, her demeanor instantly changed. She was dressed in a spotless white, long-sleeved nightgown, her thick, wavy hair in a long, loose braid over her shoulder. "Marshal Dillon!" she exclaimed, her eyes twinkling in the starlight. "What on earth? Why, it's the middle of the night!" she added in a scolding manner, but the expression on her face told him she was anything but angry.

He grinned again and scuffed at the dirt with the toe of his boot, then offered, "I know, but I saw the light in your window, and I thought you might still be up. But if I'm botherin' you..."

Kitty hurried to interrupt, "Oh, I didn't say you were bothering me, Matt." She fingered her braid and pointed it at him accusingly. "You're puttin' words in my mouth."

Pushing his hat back off his forehead, he chuffed out a quiet laugh. "I apologize, Miss Russell. So, uh, I'm not botherin' you?"

"No, you're not." Kitty scrunched her forehead and rested her chin in one hand, "Hey, I just got off work. But what are you doing up at this hour? Chester told me earlier you were sleepin'."

"I, uh..." Matt hesitated, but finally decided to just come out with it. "I couldn't sleep, Kitty."

"Couldn't sleep? Why, he said you haven't slept for over two days. You must be dead tired!" she exclaimed in concern.

"I am, Kitty." Matt ducked his head. "Awful tired."

"Matt..." Kitty waited for him to look up at her before she continued. "Somethin's the matter, isn't it? That why you can't get any rest?"

Matt's throat constricted again and all he could do was nod.

"You wanna come up and talk about it?"

He cleared his throat and looked up and down the alley again to make sure no one was nearby. "What'll folks think, Miss Russell?"

"Oh, folks can go hang themselves, Marshal Dillon. You wait right there and I'll be down in a jiffy. Okay?"

Matt Dillon, bone weary and disquieted over his duties as a U.S. Marshal, just gazed up at Kitty Russell's radiant face looking down at him so expectant and soft and sweet there in the warm lamplight streaming from her bedroom window. In that moment, he thought he'd never seen anyone so pretty or met anyone so good in his whole entire life. "Okay," was all he could manage in an exhausted voice. "Okay, Kitty, I'll wait right here for you."

tbc

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	2. Chapter 2

Beacon of My Soul

by Lilyjack

Chapter 2

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The back alley door of the Long Branch slowly swung open just wide enough to fit the tall, broad-shouldered marshal through. Kitty reached out and latched onto Matt's hand, silently pulling him inside. He was instantly struck by the sight of her up close in that simple, long, flowing white nightgown, beautiful face devoid of saloon girl embellishment, the usual fancy coiffure replaced by a thick red braid, soft curls escaping. He was surprised she hadn't bothered to don a robe, but she didn't need it—the long sleeves and modest neckline covered more than two of her working dresses together, he wryly observed.

Kitty held a finger to her lips and expertly turned the heavy iron key, leaving it in the lock. She beckoned him to follow her through the darkened saloon, where barroom chairs were upturned on tables and the wooden floor swept clean for the night. Matt caught sight of her bare feet padding up the stairs ahead of him beneath the hem of her plain cotton nightgown, and for some reason it pleased him that she would let him see her like this, without her finery and frills, without shoes even. He couldn't help but smile.

Suddenly Kitty halted on the step in front of him and quickly ducked down, tugging him down beside her. Matt's eyes rapidly scanned the dim saloon and spotted Bill Pence striding out of the back office, intently heading toward the front door. He gazed at Kitty's face, a breath away from his own. Her expression was surprised, apologetic. He realized she hadn't known Pence was still here, or she'd have never risked sneaking him in the back door like this. Matt moved his hand inches, squeezed her hand comfortingly. Imagined what Bill would say if he caught them. What Matt would have to do to get Bill to keep his mouth shut. Matt didn't like his business being gossiped around town. He idly wondered if the threat of a little jail time would do the trick.

Their fingers still touching, they watched Bill unlock the front door and hurriedly lock it behind himself again. Lucky for them, he'd been in an all-fired hurry to get home and never noticed them perched on the steps like sitting ducks. Sighing in relief, they stood without a word and hurried up the stairs to Kitty's small bedroom.

Kitty, leaning against the door after she safely locked it, rushed to apologize, "I am so sorry, Matt. I didn't realize..."

Matt shook his head. "No need to apologize, Kitty."

"But I thought Bill was long..."

"I know you did." His words were delivered with a tone of finality that brooked no further apologies. He knew she'd never knowingly risk his reputation. She knew how he felt, even though they'd never really discussed it.

She nodded, but then she looked at him, really looked at Matt in the glowing lamplight of her bedroom for the first time that evening. She detected the deep, dark circles beneath those crystal blue eyes of his, red-rimmed and bloodshot now, and his drawn features behind the gentle smile. Her heart squeezed in her chest to see him appearing so utterly exhausted. "Oh, Matt, look at you!" Kitty exclaimed. Taking him by the arm, she pulled him to the bed, the only place to sit in her small room besides a delicate wooden rocking chair, piled high with abandoned petticoats and sequined gowns and entirely too small for Matt's impressive stature anyway. "Please, sit down," she cajoled. "I can tell you're completely worn out."

Matt didn't argue. Sinking onto the faded quilt with a small groan, he scrubbed his face wearily with his large hands.

Kitty offered, "Chester came by this evening and told me you hadn't slept for a couple of days 'cause you'd been ridin' hard after Jack Brand's gang." Stepping forward, she took his hat from his head to hang it on a peg, but then stopped short, looking puzzled.

"What?" Matt asked her warily.

"Matt, your hair is soakin' wet," she said, reaching out to rake a damp curl off his forehead. "And your shirt..." She touched his collar. "Matt," she began, feeling his forehead and cheeks in alarm, "do you have a fever?"

"No, Kitty," he said quietly, retrieving the hat and placing it on her bedpost. He took both her hands and pulled her over to sit beside him on the bed. Face flushing a little pink, he hesitated, trying to decide how much to tell her. He felt a little silly now, here in the light of Kitty's room, a full grown man having nightmares like a kid. But his heart was heavy and, truth be told, this was a distressing matter that he always carried with him. He silently regarded her for a moment, and her expression was so full of concern for him that he realized he could tell her and she would never make light of him or ever tell anyone else. He knew he could trust Kitty Russell. He could tell her everything and she would understand.

He took a deep cleansing breath and prepared to open up his heart to her. "It's all this killing that's bothering me. It's why I can't sleep tonight, Kitty. My dreams keep wakin' me up." He ran his fingers through his wet hair. "I wake up in a cold sweat."

Her eyes widened ever so slightly at this confession from her friend, the tough, brave U.S. Marshal. Matt never showed any weakness. Killing was unfortunately a part of his job, a terrible part, but he had always seemed to get over it okay before. Thoughtfully she gazed at him, questioned him seriously, "Why is it different this time, Matt? You've had to kill so many times before. Chester says that Brand has been harassing you, callin' you awful names. Is that it?"

Matt's fingers absently scraped over the stubble on his chin as he brooded over the haunting accusations of his nightmare. _"Butcherrrr..."_

"Maybe," was all he said. Then he glanced up at his sincere companion and decided to answer more truthfully. "I'm sure that's part of it. Brand's gettin' to me a little bit. I had to kill three men yesterday afternoon, Kitty. _Three men_." He shook his head regretfully.

Laying her hand on Matt's arm, Kitty fervently asserted, "But you were only doin' your job, Matt. You did nothing wrong!"

"I know I was only doin' my job, Kitty, but..." Matt threw his hands wide and looked to be struggling for words.

"But what, Matt?" She softly touched his sleeve, her earnest expression encouraging him to continue.

He crossed one booted foot over his knee and absently plucked at a thread hanging from his britches hem. Blowing out a breath, he finally admitted, "I hate this job. I've always hated this job."

Kitty's mouth dropped open in surprise. She hadn't seen that one coming. Finally she found her tongue. "Well," she replied, without a hint of irony in her voice, "that makes two of us."

"Really?" he piped up, then amended, "Wait a minute. Did you mean you hate _my_ job? Or _your_ job?"

She looked at him with a raised brow, and he flushed at the implication. Kitty's occupation was a sore spot that they didn't discuss. She sighed and admitted, "Both, Matt. But I guess mine is a discussion for another day, huh?" She looked down, tracing the pattern on the quilt with her index finger. "We're talkin' about yours today. I hate yours because I..." She looked up at him then with those blue eyes, the ones he swore were the bluest he'd seen in his life. "...because I never know when I might lose you, Matt."

Heart thumping in his chest at her admission, he gave a little nod and said, "I know, Kitty, I know." Then he swiped a nervous hand over his chin and added tentatively, "I, uh, I hate your job, too, Kitty, and I do wanna talk about that someday." He looked into her astonished expression. "Okay?"

Kitty tucked her feet up under her on the bed, then looked self-consciously down at her lap. "Okay, Matt..."

"If that's okay with you." He ducked his head a little nervously. They'd always avoided this topic like the plague.

Feeling butterflies spring up in her stomach, the saloon girl answered in a low voice, "It's okay with me."

"I...I hope I haven't make you mad or anything."

"You haven't made me mad, Matt."

He reached out and touched the soft curl at the end of her braid, whispering, "Good."

Kitty held back the shivers that his touch sent through her body and instead said, "Matt?"

"Yeah, Kitty?"

"You know, nothin' says you have to keep on being a marshal, you know." She was sorry when he let go of her braid and placed his hand on his knee.

"Whatta you mean?"

"Well, you just said you hate your job. Nobody is makin' you do this job. You could have any job that pleases you."

"I'll admit," he said, rubbing at his burning eyes, "I've given it some thought a time or two before."

She smiled encouragingly. "I wouldn't think any the worse of you if you didn't want to be marshal anymore."

"You wouldn't, huh?" He grinned back.

"Nope." She pressed her lips together and shook her head matter-of-factly.

"Well, whatta you think I should do for a living?"

"I don't know." Shrugging her shoulders, Kitty added drily but with a twinkle in her eye, "Just as long as you aren't a lazy bum. That'd be no good."

Matt barked out a laugh and crossed his arms. "Yep, if I quit my job, I don't really know what I'd do instead." They both sat contemplating the idea quietly for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts.

Suddenly Kitty realized Matt was scrutinizing her, a big grin spreading across his face.

Her expression became suspicious. "What?" she asked.

"Oh, nothin'," Matt answered unconvincingly. He couldn't keep his eyes from lingering over her face and form.

"What are you thinkin', Matt Dillon?" She placed her hands on her hips. Kitty was used to Matt's roving eyes when she was all gussied up, but she was well aware that she was not looking her finest at that particular moment in time. "Why are you smiling?" she demanded, raising a wary auburn brow.

He couldn't wipe the big, foolish smile off his face to save his life. He finally stuttered, "I...I just think you look real pretty is all."

She pulled a face at him.

His voice rose in pitch. "Honest!"

"I don't have on a speck of paint and my hair's a mess and ..."

Matt interrupted softly, "You look like a sweet, pretty young girl, Kitty." He reached out and touched her cheek for just an instant.

Kitty's breath caught in her throat at his unexpected words and at his hesitant, gentle touch. She gazed into his earnest eyes and saw that he meant what he said. She supposed they'd both shared a vulnerable side of themselves that night, and everything had turned out alright. She replied simply and sincerely, "Why...thank you, Matt Dillon."

Just then the big U.S. Marshal gave an enormous yawn. Kitty was suitably impressed.

Slipping off the bed, she faced him, one finger in the air. "What you need is some brandy, Matt. Nothing is better for helping a body sleep. I don't have any up here, but I'll run downstairs and fetch a bottle. How's that sound?"

His voice was sounding scratchier by the minute. "That sounds just fine, Kitty." Matt reached for her hand and squeezed it gently. "Thanks...for everything."

She squeezed right back. Eyes shining, she declared, "I'll be right back in two shakes of a lamb's tail." Spinning on her bare heel, Kitty scooted out the door and hurried down the stairs.

tbc

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	3. Chapter 3

Beacon of My Soul

by Lilyjack

Chapter 3

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Kitty knew exactly where Bill Pence kept his brandy stashed, and it wasn't with the cheap whiskey. Bill trusted her with a lot of things since she'd been keeping his books for quite some time now. He'd discovered she had a head for figures and took full advantage of it pretty quickly. She located the extra key to the office they kept hidden under the bar way in back and then retrieved the brandy from a cabinet in the office.

Grabbing a couple of clean glasses, Kitty marveled at what Matt had admitted to her that night. _Matt hated his job. _ If she had stopped to think about it at all, it would have been the logical conclusion. Matt was such a gentle, kind man. All that killing would have to get under his skin eventually, wouldn't it? Kitty felt bad that she was just figuring things out. She sighed as she climbed the stairs, promising to herself to be more sensitive to his problems. Standing in front of her room, she juggled the two glasses so that she could turn the doorknob. Just because Matt was a big, strong man didn't mean he didn't get upset and have his worries, too.

Kitty opened the door and was greeted by the sight of the big, strong marshal sprawled across her bed, softly snoring, fast asleep, his dirty, booted feet still thoughtfully planted safely on the floor. Her heart melted, happy that her troubled friend was getting some well-deserved rest at last. She crept into the room and noiselessly set the brandy and glasses on the washstand that stood close to the bed. Then she tiptoed over to the rocking chair and began quietly transferring clothing from the seat to the floor. One night sleeping in a chair wouldn't hurt her if it would give Matt a peaceful night's slumber.

She began turning the lamp down low, when she heard a voice, already gravelly with sleep. "Kitty?" He started to sit up, but she hurried to push his shoulders back down.

"Oh no, you don't. You're stayin' right here, mister, until you get some rest." Quickly she yanked off his boots, grunting with the effort, and heaved them under the bed. He'd have a mighty hard time going anywhere without them. She dusted her hands together in satisfaction.

"Aw, Kitty, I can't take a lady's bed," he protested, but she was already busily pouring him a stiff measure of brandy and sitting next to him with a determined look in her eye. He'd seen that look before and it didn't bode well for him.

"Drink," she ordered.

He blew out a breath, his eyelids drooping, and drank. He was too exhausted to argue. When Kitty was feeling stubborn, a man might as well give up.

"Again," she said, holding out a second glass, twice as full as the first.

"Kitty!" Matt protested.

"I'll not have you wakin' up with horrible dreams, Matt Dillon. This stuff will make you sleep like the dead!" She sniffed determinedly.

"Okay, okay..." Matt tossed it back and spluttered unceremoniously.

"Good boy."

He pressed his lips together and eyed her askance.

Taking the glass from him, she set it on the washstand, then placed her hands on her hips. "Now, let's get that damp shirt off you before you catch your death."

"Aw, Kitty..." he objected, but she was already undoing his buttons.

"You've got your union suit under here. Don't be shy around me. You know I've seen..." She broke off, realizing she was heading into forbidden territory regarding her sticky job situation, and she felt her cheeks turning pink at the slipup.

They both fell silent, and Matt finally said quietly, "Here, Kitty, let me."

Finishing the last few buttons himself, he peeled it off with a weary groan. She clucked her tongue at the cutoff arms and sad disrepair of his undershirt, although secretly she could not help but admire the smooth skin and corded muscles he'd revealed. She stretched out her arm, "Hand it over. I can tell you don't have a woman taking care of you, Matt Dillon—looking after your things. That shirt could use a needle and thread."

The brandy was already working on him. He had a glazed look in his eye and he was feeling a little daring. "You got a needle and thread, Kitty Russell?"

"Maybe." She hung the shirt on a peg on the wall to dry. "Gun belt." The arm extended again.

Matt chuckled. "Oh. Yeah."

"I'll have no guns going off in here tonight." A saucily lifted brow.

Matt's ears flushed and he handed over his weapon without a word. She hung it beside the shirt.

She began pulling back the covers on her bed. "Get underneath, Matt."

He looked sheepish at confiscating her bed, but the alcohol was winning over male vanity just as she'd planned, his eyelids becoming heavier and heavier by the minute. He obediently climbed under the covers and released a tremendous sigh as soon as his head hit the pillow. She gave a small sigh of her own as she sat facing him on the side of the bed and raked his now drying, thick curls off his forehead. She indulged herself and stroked his forehead once, and then again when she couldn't help herself. His eyes were closing and he would soon be fast asleep. The brandy was working its magic.

She took full advantage of his near unconscious state and openly admired his utterly handsome face—dark brows and thick lashes framing beautiful eyes that sparkled disarmingly when he smiled, soft, full lips and a strong chin. And those charming, floppy dark curls that she forever wanted to thread her fingers through.

Suddenly she realized he was looking right back at her. Just through one eye and it was only half open at that, but she was startled all the same because she'd assumed he was sound asleep already.

"Kitty?" The word came out in a slurred whisper, but she understood him.

"Yes, Matt?"

"Wher' you gonna sleep?"

She pointed to the rocking chair. He grunted and closed his eyes again. Wordlessly he slid across to the far pillow and softly patted the bed beside him. Her eyes widened in surprise, and he raised one eyebrow somewhat irreverently, saying, "Honey, you kin trus' me. I'm too damn tired t' lay a hand on you t'night." He smiled drunkenly and amended, "Even as purdy as y' are."

Kitty choked out a laugh, and Matt reached out a hand which she apprehensively took. She never expected to be sharing a bed with him tonight. They lay facing each other under the bedclothes, and Kitty quietly watched him fall asleep again, a matter that took mere moments. She imagined she herself would probably remain wide awake all night long in light of this strange situation, lying in bed with her dear friend the U.S. Marshal. But the funny thing was, as she listened to his even, soft breathing, watched his peaceful face and relaxed expression, his broad chest rising and falling in the low lamplight-it was no time a'tall until she herself had drifted off to sleep right beside him.

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Matt woke sometime after dawn the next morning, a soft, warm, supple body nestled within his arms. Kitty's head was pillowed on his chest, and he appreciatively inhaled the delicate scent of her hair, lavender and rose-water. He didn't know how they'd ended up like this, but he had to admit it sure enough felt good. She fit within the circle of his arms just right, he thought. He was afraid to move, afraid to wake her—what would he say to her? He didn't believe they were ready for this, nosiree. He thought maybe they needed to have their "talk" about her job. That would be a difficult discussion, to be sure. But it seemed they were becoming closer every day. He'd shared a lot with Kitty last night.

She made a soft noise in her sleep and stirred. Matt regretted leaving the warmth and comfort of her bed, but he took advantage of the moment and slipped from beneath her and onto the chilly wooden floor. He watched as she settled onto the pillow and her breathing became even again-drifting back into a deep sleep. He released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Then he grabbed his shirt from the peg and buttoned it up, hastily tucking it into his britches and buckling on his gun belt. He quietly knelt down on all fours and dug beneath the bed for his boots, cursing under his breath at how far Kitty had pitched them last night so he wouldn't be able to escape. Lastly, he retrieved his hat from the bedpost, jamming it onto his head. He stood, hands on hips, silently admiring his sleeping beauty and trusted confidante. He risked reaching out to pull the covers up over her shoulders. Finally, he couldn't resist brushing his lips softly over her sleep-flushed cheek.

Then Matt turned and strode out, heading for the back alley door. He wanted to get back to the jail and into his cot before Chester woke up. He didn't intend for his assistant to know where he'd been all night. Chester was nosy as the dickens and the worst dadgum gossip in all of Dodge City.

tbc

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	4. Chapter 4

Beacon of My Soul

by Lilyjack

Chapter 4

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Sitting at the head of her bed, Kitty stripped off her hot stockings one at a time and tossed them across the room to join the rest of her clothing. She eyed the frothy concoction of a dress that she'd worn to go fishing with Matt. It now lay abandoned in a puddle of ruffles atop the rocking chair. She thought wryly that she hadn't worn it so much to catch fish as to catch a man. A very tall, very good-looking man that she was mighty worried about right now. He'd quit his job as U.S. Marshal a while back, but it seemed his troubles were far from over. Her stomach was in knots waiting for word about his latest showdown with the outlaw Joe Stanger.

Chester had brought Kitty back from their interrupted fishing trip and picnic, just as he'd promised Matt, and left her safely at the Long Branch. Then he'd gone to find Matt, who'd strapped his gun belt back on to deal with Joe Stanger. Stanger had killed sweet young saloon girl Linda Hawkins at the Long Branch in Matt's absence. Chester had convinced Matt that the only one capable of facing Stanger was Matt himself. Grim-faced, Matt had ridden off alone to do just that.

Now Kitty sat at the head of the bed wearing only her cool, cotton shift against her skin, a pillow hugged tightly in her arms. Images flashed swiftly through her mind-Matt, laughing, carefree, happy these last days without the title of U.S. Marshal in front of his name. Young Linda, brand new to the saloon business, her pretty face soon to be forever buried six feet under. Matt again, taking that gun back in his hand, his expression somber when he realized what he had to do. Her heart was so heavy for him right now.

She laid the pillow aside and went to her vanity to brush out her hair, hoping that Chester would soon bring word like he promised. It was her day off from work, and she would sit in this room and worry herself to death if she didn't hear something shortly. She tied her shining mass of curls back with a yellow satin ribbon, the whole time muttering to herself that Matt was perfectly capable of taking care of himself and he was just fine and dandy and there was no use whatsoever in fretting about him. Cleaning out her brush, she deposited the red strands in her porcelain hair receiver and glanced at herself appraisingly in the mirror while twisting and smoothing the small escaping curls in front of her ears.

Then, when Kitty just couldn't abide it a blessed minute longer, she strode determinedly to her chiffarobe to choose an afternoon dress to wear. She was going to march down to that jailhouse and find out what in blue blazes was going on herself. She didn't care if Matt and Chester did get mad. She just hoped she didn't stumble right into the midst of Matt and Stanger in a gunfight. She'd simply have to take care that... Just then there was a knock at the door.

"Chester?" Kitty called hopefully. Snatching her wrap from the end of the bed, she shrugged it over her shoulders. "Just a minute!" She hastily collected her scattered ladies' unmentionables—petticoats, stockings, corset, pantaloons-pitched them inside the dark wooden chiffarobe and swung the door closed.

"No, Kitty, it's me."

Kitty's eyes sparkled as she recognized the deep, resonant voice that answered her. Fingers fumbling to tie her sash, she hurried to throw the bedroom door open wide. "Matt!" she exclaimed. "I wasn't expectin' you. Come right in!"

Matt glanced at her pale pink dressing gown with row upon row of ruffles and asked playfully, "Hey, what happened to the pretty dress you had on earlier?"

Drolly, she answered, "Oh, that was my fishin' dress. Had to change my outfit."

He pointed to the dress abandoned on the chair as he removed his hat, "I see."

"Oh. Sorry." She made a face. "The room's a mess. As usual. Come sit beside me on the bed."

She smothered a small smile as he dropped his hat familiarly on the bedpost. Neither of them had dared mention the subject of their night sharing her bed. Kitty had woken when Matt had stirred that fateful morning, but she'd pretended to be asleep so that she could spend a few more precious moments held in his arms. How she'd gotten there, she had no idea, but oh, it had felt so right. She didn't think that Matt was ready for anything of that sort yet and hadn't wanted to scare him off, so she'd kept her mouth tightly closed on the subject since he had as well.

Matt seemed restless and hesitant as he sat. Rested his booted foot on one knee. Ran his fingers through his mop of curls as he looked around the room, anywhere but at her.

Kitty started the conversation for him. "I'm glad to see you, Matt. I've been very worried. Chester said he'd let me know how things had turned out with Stanger, but when I waited and waited and he didn't show, I'd just decided I'd go down myself."

Matt finally spoke gravely. "Stanger's in jail, Kitty. I called him out in the street and shot him in his gun hand. He won't be killing anymore helpless women for a while. I saw to that."

Tears sprang to Kitty's eyes as she thought of timid young Linda, shot down by Joe Stanger in cold blood. "Oh, Matt. You did the right thing. You did what you had to do."

"We can't have spoilers like Stanger in Dodge, running over people, killing for no reason." He beat some nonexistent dust off his britches leg.

"You're exactly right, Matt." Kitty shook her head in agreement. "We can't." She could tell where this was headed, and it made her feel a little sick.

"Kitty," Matt began, and he finally turned and looked her in the eye. "What would you say if I told you I was going to be marshal again?"

Her heart sank at the idea of Matt returning to that old life, but she asked him in a carefully neutral tone, "Is that what you want, Matt?"

"I think..." Matt scrubbed his face tiredly in his palms and then continued thoughtfully, "I think Chester may be right. Maybe there isn't anybody who can do this job better than me right now. And until someone comes along who can, I feel an obligation to do it." He placed a hand gently over hers. "What do you think, Kitty?"

Her stomach fluttered at his surprisingly tender touch. "You wanna know what I think, Matt Dillon?"

He nodded firmly but she could hear him audibly swallow.

She continued, "Well, knowin' what you've told me about how you feel about this damn job, but you're still gonna take it back—that makes me think you're the bravest man I've ever met, Matt. I'm mighty proud of you." She placed her other hand atop his and squeezed softly. "I can't say I'm happy. I'll worry about you every day, riskin' your life to take care of other people. But you're a good man, Matt Dillon. The best."

"You... you really think so?"

"I really think so." She looked down at her lap where their hands intertwined. "I think you're the best man I've ever met."

And then his free hand was lifting her chin, urging her to look into his honest, clear blue eyes. "Kitty, you're the sweetest girl I ever met."

She chuffed out a nervous laugh, because he was leaning awful close to her, and he had an intense look in those beautiful eyes of his, like she'd never seen before. She quipped, "Sweet? I don't know too many people who'd call me that."

His dark brows beetled seriously. "Well, maybe they don't know you like I do, Kitty."

"Oh, yeah?" She was becoming fairly dizzy with Matt sweet-talking her like this, gazing at her with those big, thick-lashed eyes of his, leaning so close and smelling so awful good.

He admitted a little bashfully, "Kitty, I've never been able to talk to anyone the way I can talk to you."

"I'm glad, Matt. You can talk to me anytime you like. You can..."

Matt cut off the rest of her sentence with his soft lips placed oh-so-gently on her own. Her eyes fluttered closed and they kissed slowly, tenderly, both of them trembling with emotion.

They broke apart at last, breathless, gazing into each other's eyes a bit incredulously at what had just taken place.

Kitty finally spoke, "You're shaking."

"I'm nervous." His voice cracked a little on the last syllable.

"But you're a big, strong man," she murmured, still a little stunned.

"Not when I'm with you, honey." He took her hand in his and squeezed it, but not too tightly, and pressed it to his chest. "You sometimes turn my legs to gooseberry jelly, you know that?"

"You never told me before."

"I'm tellin' ya now." He traced her flushed cheek with the back of his index finger, then eagerly leaned in for another kiss.

As much as she hated to, she interrupted him, "Matt, wait. Are you sure about this?"

"Whatta you mean?" His eyes were glazed over, fixed on her lush lips.

"I mean, you said you needed to have a talk first, remember?" She placed her hands on his cheeks, looked squarely into his eyes. "Have you forgotten that already?"

Matt frowned, remembering that inconvenient fact of their lives. He drawled, "Yeah, I do."

"You said you hate my job, Matt."

"Of course, I do. What man wouldn't?" He scooted closer to her on the bed and murmured, "I don't wanna make you mad, but I can't share you, Kitty. You gotta get out of this line of work."

She smiled a secret smile, looking down and tracing a pattern over the back of Matt's hand. He shivered nearly imperceptibly and her smile widened. "Well, what would you say if I told you I was workin' on gettin' out of this job? And I have been for quite some time. It may be only a matter of a few weeks." She looked up at him, beaming. "I been savin' up my money, Matt Dillon. I got a plan."

Matt's eyes widened in surprise. "Really?"

She crossed her arms smugly. "Yup."

"That's my girl!" Matt crowed. He leaned in for a kiss.

She leaned backwards, protesting, "Don't you wanna even know what it is?"

He grinned, tugging the satin ribbon from her hair and threading his fingers through the jumble of curls at the nape of her neck. He hovered over her until she lay back on the bed. His voice was dark and passionate as he insisted, "You can tell me later, honey." He began nibbling his way from her ear down her slim throat...

"Oh, Matt..." she purred blissfully. Then a quiet pause. Kitty cleared her throat. "Matt, don't you think you should take off your gun belt first? I'll have no guns going off in here..."

end

_...unless you wish to go on to Chapter 5, which contains a somewhat steamy consensual bedroom scene._

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	5. Chapter 5

Beacon of My Soul

by Lilyjack

Chapter 5

_This is the optional chapter intended for mature readers. It depicts a loving relationship between two consenting adults._

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Matt hastily stood, his gun belt hitting the floor with a loud clunk. Kitty, arms thrown over her head, eyed him appraisingly from the bed. "Matt, why do you wear that vest all the time? You're such a fine figure of a man, and that vest just hides the fact."

He looked at her quizzically.

She waxed rhapsodically, "You have such broad shoulders and a narrow waist and..." She hid her face behind both hands and continued, "...and I like to walk behind you and watch you walk because you have the finest..."

"Kitty!" Matt exclaimed, looking positively scandalized.

"Well, it's true!" She sat up, hugging her knees in front of her. "I just hate that vest because it hides your manly...

He quickly held his finger to her lips and then stripped the offending garment from his body, chucking it in the floor. Crawling atop her on the bed with a growl, he eagerly picked up where he'd left off when she'd politely asked him to remove his weapon.

Matt nibbled and kissed his way from the sensitive flesh behind her ear all the way down her throat until he had reached a potential barrier—the collar of her dainty pink dressing gown. He looked questioningly into her eyes for permission. She cocked one auburn brow and gave him a crooked come-hither smile. Rolling aside, he slowly tugged the sash on her robe...and discovered an additional barrier of lace-trimmed chemise beneath. Kitty let out a little belly laugh at the crestfallen look on his face.

"You ladies wear entirely too many clothes, you know that?" he muttered incredulously.

"I choose to blame it all on Queen Victoria."

"Queen Vic...?"

"The fashion icon of all well-dressed ladies."

"I just wish you were wearin' a little less of that fashion right now. Stand up," he instructed.

She stood, and he slipped the frilly dressing gown from her shoulders. "That's better," he conceded, "but I want it all."

She gave a little shiver at the idea of standing naked before Matt, but he was waiting so patiently. He bit his bottom lip and then amended softly, "Only if you're ready, honey."

She gave him a sultry smile. "Are _you_ ready, Cowboy?" Reaching down, she grasped the hem of her chemise and pulled it slowly over her head, shaking her red curls out of her face and then dropping the garment in a puddle of lace and soft, white cotton on the floor at her bare feet.

Matt's eyes glazed over as they traveled over her form in that old familiar way that she'd seen at least a hundred times in the Long Branch, only this time there was no clothing obstructing his view.

She placed her hands impatiently on her hips. "Well, are you just gonna sit there all day?"

Matt instantly snapped to attention. "Ohhh, no. C'mere, pretty lady." He swept her onto the bed and began kissing and caressing every inch of her tender flesh, from her graceful shoulders to her smallest toes.

Kitty breathlessly observed, "You're very good at this, Matt."

He planted a damp kiss on the soft skin of her thigh, his eyes dark with desire. "I've been thinkin' about you for a very long time, Kitty Russell."

She raised her head drunkenly, blowing a copper curl out of her face. "So you've been plannin' this?"

He chuckled against her skin. "I think plannin' might be too strong a word." Just then he hit a particularly sensitive spot, and she cried out so loudly that he hoped the Long Branch patrons couldn't hear her down in the saloon. Maybe planning wasn't too strong a word after all. He was doing pretty dadgum well so far.

Matt sat back for a moment and admired his handiwork. His sweetheart's eyes were heavy-lidded with passion, her porcelain skin flushed with yearning, her lips damp and swollen from his kisses.

As his eyes hungrily raked over her, he stroked her naked skin and said in a deadpan voice, one eyebrow raised, "I think from now on you should not wear any clothes in here with me. That's our rule okay?"

Kitty answered breathlessly, "Matt Dillon...you are... completely shameless...I had no idea."

He grinned slyly. "No, I just appreciate a beautiful woman when I see one, and I wanna see all of you all the time. You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen in my whole life."

She was taken aback at his extravagant compliment, but only replied, "Flatterer. Well, if you do _this_ all the time..." She sucked in a breath. "Ohhh, right there, Matt... I might not mind so much. But what if I catch cold?"

He gave her his most charming crooked smile. "Oh, honey, I promise to keep you good and warm."

"I...I'm beginning to believe I can trust you to keep that promise..." She wasn't sure if he was kidding or not but right now she was too caught up in the throes of passion to give a damn one way or the other.

She glanced pointedly at Matt's britches. "Cowboy..." she breathed. "...are you gonna let that thing out of there or not? It might just go off by itself, and you know what I said about guns."

He quickly obliged her by unbuckling his belt, unbuttoning his pants and drawing out his own personal "firearm."

Her eyes grew wide, and he gave her a gentle smile. "I'll take it slow, sweetheart, I promise."

She reached out and caressed his silken skin, feverish to the touch.

"Whoa, honey, you really will make it go off by itself if you keep doin' that," he warned. "Now, c'mere."

"Wait, just a minute," she said with a wicked glint in her eye. "I want it all."

He stared at her blankly.

She attempted to jolt his memory. "I wish you were wearin' a little bit less of that cowboy fashion right now."

"Aw, Kitty..."

"What's good for the goose..."

"Alright, alright..."

Lying back, Kitty let her hand slip down to touch herself as she watched her man slowly disrobe-unbuttoning his shirt, taking off his boots, peeling off his britches and finally, very sheepishly, stripping off his union suit until he was bare bottom naked before her. She let her eyes trail deliciously over all that gloriously exposed well-muscled body. She saw that he was observing her own actions with distinct interest as well.

"Turn around!" She twirled her finger for emphasis, her eyes twinkling.

"I will _not_." He put his hands on his hips, and she marveled again at his impressive manhood, wondering where on earth she was going to manage to put it all. She rose to her knees, grabbed his hat from the bedpost and placed it on his curly head, his crowning glory. It'd always been a little daydream of hers to see him wearing nothing but a smile and his Stetson.

Grinning, he slipped a hand gently between her thighs, making her squeal in surprise. She whacked him on the arm, but he simply kissed her nose in return. "You're ready for me, honey. C'mere."

Grabbing her waist, he effortlessly lifted her into his arms. Sliding her arms around his neck and wrapping her long legs around his waist, she pressed her naked skin against his and the sensation was like nothing she'd ever felt before. She whispered, "You feel so good, Matt," rubbing her cheek next to his, inhaling his musky scent.

Tracing his rough hands up and down her silky smooth back, he murmured in her ear, "Honey, you have no idea how good..."

He carefully rested her back against the wall and she smiled when she glimpsed the outstanding view of his perfect backside in the cheval floor mirror across the room. She began to remark on it, but decided to keep her mouth shut and simply enjoy the view. Kitty began nibbling his ear and got a little carried away.

"Ow...you little wildcat...you bit me," he growled low in her ear.

Narrowing her eyes at him, she softly nipped and suckled his lower lip. He kissed her hard and deep in return, and she watched the two of them in the mirror over his shoulder-Matt Dillon was such a beautiful man.

She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck and showered his face and throat and shoulders with kisses. Kitty began to feel she couldn't get close enough to him. "Oh, Matt," she murmured hotly into his ear and desperately pressed her center intimately to her lover.

"Kitty," he murmured, "Are you ready?"

"Yes," she breathed. And then he gripped her small waist with his powerful hands. They joined, slowly, gradually, gently. He watched her expression, red tresses falling over her face, eyes hooded, swollen lips parted, and he thought he'd never seen anything so untamed and amorous and lovely in all his life. She held tightly to his shoulders, her fingernails digging into his muscles, and finally she opened her blue eyes, full of wonder and something else, what, he wasn't sure. He grasped her sweet little round bottom and she rocked against him then, in a primal rhythm, again and again, gasping and crying, and so they moved together increasing in fury until their passion was slaked.

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Quietly, contentedly, they lay together on the bed, their bodies intertwined, their breathing measured. He traced his work-calloused finger along her smooth, bare skin, making her shiver in delight. She idly threaded her slim fingers through the fine, soft hair on his chest, damp now with perspiration.

Matt pointed in mock sternness to a slight bruise on his shoulder, "Somehow I seem to have acquired an injury in the shape of someone's teeth here..." He touched Kitty's front tooth and her cheeks flushed pink. "...during her point of highest, shall we say...?"

"Oh, Matt, hush up!"

"You're a little tiger!" He began giggling and she swatted his arm.

"What? You're the one who bit me! More that once, I might add!"

She hid her face in her hands for the second time and her voice sounded muffled. "Oh! Matt Dillon, you just don't know what you do to me!" One blue eye peeped out between two fingers. "You're not like the others, Matt. Really, you're different."

Matt's expression sobered. "Aw, I'm sorry, Kitty. I didn't mean to embarrass you." He kissed her smooth shoulder. "Besides, I like that you're a little tiger. You can bite me anytime." He gave her a wink followed by a long, languorous kiss.

Kitty's eyes remained closed after their kiss had ended, and she asked quietly, "So, Matt, is there gonna be a next time?"

He sounded surprised. "Don't you wanna have a next time?"

She gave him a soft smile, "Course I do."

He traced his fingers down her cheek. "I wanna have you around for a long time, honey. I...I can't make you any promises. I want to explain that up front. I'm a lawman, and I don't feel like I can have the things other men have like a home and a family. Why, somethin' could happen to me tomorrow, you know that."

Kitty's eyes were downcast and she sighed. "I know that, Matt. I'm a big girl."

Matt blew out a long breath, raked several stray red locks out of Kitty's face, and answered, "But even though I hate killin', and even if I do hate this job..." Matt lifted her chin gently to make sure she was looking into his eyes, "...I think I can get through it if I've got you by my side, Kitty Russell. But the choice is up to you."

She murmured, "You really mean that, Matt?"

"I mean it, Kitty."

And they sealed their agreement with a lingering, tender kiss.

When they parted, Kitty had a sudden thought. "You know Matt, you told me you couldn't share me with anyone else? Well, I'm not so good at sharin' either you know." Her eyes narrowed.

"No?"

She shook her head. "Nuh-uh. You realize that your gun had better *never* go off anywhere but here, Cowboy. _Comprende_?"

Matt's eyebrows headed toward his hairline and he got tickled. "Now why would I wanna do that when I got the purdiest girl in all of Kansas right here?"

"I'm just sayin'—have you ever seen a sawed off shotgun?" She made little biting motions with her teeth, and Matt fell apart giggling at his Tiger. To demonstrate she started nibbling her way down his chest and stomach.

"Oh, whoa...honey...hey now... ohhhh, sweetheart..."

"Are you reloaded yet, Cowboy?"

"I think I'm about to be," Matt fairly squeaked. "Whooo!"

"That's what I like about you, Matt. Always ready to jump back in the saddle. Now you just lie back and enjoy the ride. Let Kitty take care of you..."

"Oh, honey, I think you're gonna be the death of me... "

end

_Author's Note: Thank you a bushel and a peck, dear readers, for the many thoughtful, insightful and downright touching comments you have left over the past four days—I knew I'd done my job right when I read your wonderful words. I wish I could have returned everyone's notes personally, but some of you left yours as a "guest" and therefore I have no way of replying, so please consider this my personal thank-you for taking the time and consideration to leave your thoughts. _

_For the most part, these "reviews" are the only contact we amateur fanfic writers share with our readers. We do this only as a hobby when we're not working or taking care of our families. We only do it to share our love of our subject matter with other fans. If we just hit the Submit button and heard nothing but the hum of the computer fan in return, it wouldn't be a very fulfilling hobby at all. _

_That's why these notes that you leave for your favorite fanfic authors are very important. If authors didn't hear from you that what they're writing is touching your heart in some way, there'd be no point in publishing now, would it? So give your favorite amateur fic author a virtual pat on the back. You'll be surprised at how much they appreciate it. I've made some very close friendships through the contacts I've had via fanfic publishing. You never know just what might happen as a result of your Gunsmoke community correspondence..._

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